


Lift The Wings

by NaomiJameston



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, HEA, Homecoming, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Memorials, Post-War, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/pseuds/NaomiJameston
Summary: Ten years after the Final Battle, Hermione attends the memorial with a bouquet of flowers and a secret.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 124
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	Lift The Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the incredible BlackCoffee13. Thank you, boo!!
> 
> This was inspired by an amazing song called Lift the Wings by Bill Whelan (performed by Davy Spillane): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuOz47TFoeE

It was a beautiful spring morning, warm for early May in Scotland, and a light breeze played with her curls as she knelt on the cold ground. Her hands shook as she cleared a space in front of her, nerves negating the warmth of the sun on her skin. She worked, pulling weeds and grass without hesitation until she’d uncovered the vase set into the dirt. Nodding grimly, she muttered, “Aguamenti,” and plopped a bouquet of flowers into the summoned water in the glass.

“That looks nice, Hermione,” a voice said behind her. Hermione Granger turned a bit too suddenly, and clapped a hand to her back as it twinged.

“Minerva,” she said with a pained laugh. “You’re up early.”

“As are you.” The older woman moved stiffly up the low hill to stand by Hermione, leaning heavily on her cane. “He wouldn’t thank you for the flowers, nor for remembering him, you know.”

“Well,” Hermione chuckled. “He’s not around to yell at me, so I suppose he’ll just have to make do.”

Minerva smiled gently as she knelt to rearrange a flower stuck at an odd angle. “Lilies?”

“It felt appropriate. They mean devotion, after all.”

“Severus certainly was that,” Minerva agreed as she used her cane to lever herself up, waving away Hermione’s outstretched hand. “A remarkable man, and so sad. It’s unfair how life treated him.”

Hermione sighed, smoothing a hand over the moss-covered headstone. The carved letters felt cold and harsh beneath her fingertips, much like the man whose name they spelled had been. Minerva transfigured a chair from a twig and settled into it with a matching sigh. They sat together in silence as the sun crested over the distant mountains to bring light and warmth to the flowers and grass around them. Birds flew overhead, their songs sweet and light. Tiny cheeps sounded from a nest above. 

Absently, Hermione hummed a barely-remembered melody. A song of loss and longing, of hope and optimism, and the desire to be free. To sail away, to forget and be forgotten.

“Miss Lovegood sang that,” Minerva said quietly. “I didn’t know the girl had a musical bone in her body, but… well. It was stunning and perfect.”

Hermione chuckled, wiping a tear away absently. “He’d have hated it.”

“Oh, he’d have blustered and sneered and declared himself unaffected,” Minerva said with a nod, “but he’d have been touched. And he would be touched that you remember it.”

“It speaks to me,” Hermione said simply. “Who doesn’t identify with the need to disappear sometimes? Especially when life seems determined to crush you like flowers under snow.”

“Severus certainly wasn’t a delicate flower, but yes, he was so broken. I wish every day that I could have saved him, and I weep for how I treated him that last year. I should have…” Minerva swallowed and her voice was choked with tears as she continued, “I should have known he was ours the entire time. I never should have doubted him. He deserved so much more from me.”

Hermione placed a hand gently on Minerva’s knee. “I’m sure he knew, but he needed you to play your part.”

Minerva sneered. “Which I did, thanks to Albus. He  _ knew _ I would turn on Severus. He set us both up! He-”

“Minerva.” Hermione clasped the older woman’s cold hands in her own. “There’s no point in rehashing it again. They’re both gone.”

Minerva sniffed and patted Hermione’s hand maternally. “You’re right, of course, but ten years has done little to dull the pain. I’ll carry this shame to my grave.”

Hermione stood with a chuckle. “That’s a long way off yet. Five stunners to the chest ten years ago and you’ve only just now decided the cane is more helpful as a walking device than a tripping hazard. You’ll outlive us all.”

“Oh bollocks,” but Minerva laughed as she stood to loop her arm through Hermione’s and banish the chair. “The Grim Reaper will have a long wait for me, but-”

“No buts,” Hermione teased. “Cats have 9 lives, after all. You’ll be here for another hundred years and I’ll hear nothing less.”

They shared a laugh and walked down the hill, leaving the headstone alone on the hill. The wind played with the lily petals, tugging a loose one until it pulled free. It floated on the breeze over the two women who didn’t notice it, then caught an easterly flow to pass over a large pavilion tent. 

People passed beneath it busily, carrying linens and floating chairs into rows. Two men wrestled a podium into place, the redhead cursing up a storm. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and swore some more.

“Honestly, Harry. It’s been ten years! Do we really need all this… pomp?” he asked. The slighter, dark haired man leaned against the podium, his face pensive.

“Do you and I need it? No.” He gestured to the large castle nearby. “But do they need it? Absolutely. They can never be allowed to forget it.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed as he replaced the cloth in his pocket. “You’ve gone bitter.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve seen too often how people can shove the dark into a closet and pretend it never happened. Dumbledore is revered as a hero and Snape is still little more than a traitor, regardless of his motivations and his masters’ machinations.”

“You’re considered a hero, too,” Ron pointed out. Harry snorted.

“I was never more than a pawn. I wasn’t meant to survive, but people are happy to forget that, too.”

“But not us.”

“Never us,” Hermione said suddenly, helping Minerva sit in the front row of seats. “We’ll never forget what happened ten years ago today, and that will have to be good enough for us.”

Minerva twirled her wand and four glasses with amber liquid appeared. She, Ron, Hermione, and Harry each took one, lifting them to a marble monument that rested by the shores of a large lake just outside the tent. 

“To those we lost,” Minerva said, and the four drank.

The wind gusted again and the lily petal spiraled into the clouds, lost to sight.

~~~~~

Hermione appeared at the edge of an idyllic property just as the sun sank behind tall mountains. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, leaning against the wall that marked the barrier of a large Notice-Me-Not spell. 

Her face softened into a smile as she gazed at her tiny cottage. A thatched roof and white walls were draped with thick strands of ivy, their vibrant green competing only with the garden beneath. Flowers of all shapes and sizes- and usefulness, if one knew where to look- bloomed in wild abandon. A rabbit leaped away as she approached the low gate, muttering a phrase to lift the barrier until she passed.

Her senses were assaulted immediately by flowery scents and the rich loamy smell of the earth. She followed her nose to the far side of the house where rich soil had been overturned in rows. A tall man stood there, his dark hair only just touched with grey pulled into a tail over his shoulders. He paced the rows, dropping seeds into holes and waving the soil back into place, while a tiny rain cloud followed to water the new plants. He looked up as Hermione approached.

“You’ve been busy,” she said with a soft smile and held out her hands.

Severus Snape clasped them in his to pull her close and breathe deeply into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his back, rubbing tight muscles gently.

“I wanted to be,” he said. “Too much time to think today.”

She nodded, pulling his head down gently to rest on her shoulder. They swayed together for some time, until the twilight had retreated to inky black and Hermione shivered in the cold.

Severus lifted his head first, sniffling and coughing to hide it. He cleared his throat gruffly. “How was the memorial?”

“The same as last year and all the others. Kingsley gave a nice speech. Then Harry, then me, then Ron. Thank Merlin his was short; he’s getting tired of all the preening the Ministry officials always do.”

“I can only imagine,” Severus said with a sneer as he led the way into the cottage. The back door opened into a warm kitchen where a kettle was already whistling. He flicked a finger and the kettle filled two cups with tea. Biscuits and plates flew from the cabinets to rest in front of Hermione, who took her favorite shortbread without complaint. It was Minerva’s recipe, baked by Severus, and it always lifted her mood.

“He left not long after,” she continued, sipping some tea to wash down the crumbs. “Lavender is feeling unwell and he needed to rush home.”

“Is unwell a euphemism?” Severus asked, taking several hobnobs and piling them on his own plate. “I seem to remember she was unwell last year as well.”

Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Last year she’d broken her leg, or so I’d heard. I never saw her with a cast and she certainly didn’t seem to be in any pain when I saw her the next day.”

“Ah, then perhaps Ronald and she are co-conspirators in thumbing their noses at the Ministry. I can respect that.”

“I wish I was half so brave,” Hermione said with a laugh, “but I will always go to these damned functions and play my part. I’m too eager to please.”

“It’s your most redeeming quality,” Severus said with a suspicious monotone. Hermione looked up with an annoyed start and a sharp retort, but Severus’ lips twitched at the corners.

“You know…” she said slyly, standing fluidly and crossing to step between Severus’ long legs. She leaned forward to press a hand against his chest and brush her lips across his. “I am certainly  _ very _ eager to please. And to be pleased.”

Severus lifted her hand to place a kiss tenderly on the back.

“I am yours, a stóirín.”

He stood to sweep her into his arms, their tea forgotten as he left the kitchen to carry her up the stairs, her happy shriek trailing behind them. 

Unnoticed by either, a single lily petal swirled in a warm Scottish wind over their garden before sailing away.


End file.
